


Dr. Scratchy, Z.M.D.

by stars_inthe_sky



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: Blogging, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Health and Wellness, Mentions of Major, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/pseuds/stars_inthe_sky
Summary: Ravimayhave started a zombie health blog. Livmighthave some thoughts. Cliveallegedlywants nothing to do with it.





	Dr. Scratchy, Z.M.D.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rivkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/gifts).



“I gotta admit, these brain mush smoothies are not half-bad,” Liv announces as she breezes into the morgue. “Someone really nailed the flavor, finally, and it’s actually kinda nice to be clear-headed.”

“Instead of tripping on someone else’s neuroses?” Ravi asks absently, without looking up from his computer screen.

“I mean.” She shrugs off her jacket and tote bag. “It was kinda cool getting new skills and stuff every week, but since we’re now under emergency martial law and brains are no longer a work perk…”

Ravi spins around to face her. “In fairness to our militarized undead overlords who are in theory _just_ trying to further public _acceptance_ of zombies, eating murder victims’ brains _is_ kind of an invasion of privacy. And it’s not like you don’t have non-Blaine options now, at least.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Liv shakes her cup of gray matter and crushed ice in his face. “This actually tastes like _fruit_ ; it’s amazing. Where was that food truck when I needed it three years ago? Besides lacking a quasi-legal supplier?”

“Probably blissfully unaware of the burgeoning market for edible human brains in the first place.” Ravi turns back to the computer, face twisting in apprehension as he regards the screen anew. “In other news, we may have a…problem.”

What little color remains in Liv’s cheeks drains out of them. “Like, a Major problem?”

“No, he’s still been largely MIA since D-Day.”

“So…a more minor problem? I hope?”

“If only, Liv. I miss that floppy little creature.”

“Is today the day that I should just stop wearing heels to work because they’re terrible for, I don’t know, running for our lives?”

“I really, truly do not care about your shoe situation, Liv.”

“Okay, good.” She pulls up a stool next to him. “Because at this point, I think we only know tall people, and a girl needs a fighting chance at eye contact.”

Ravi tilts the computer screen for Liv to see. “The problem, such as it is, is that I… _may_ have started a zombie health blog a few weeks ago.”

“Say what now?”

He scrolls down the open webpage, gesturing helplessly with his free hand at the sea of white text on a peaceful blue background. “Well, I thought…I’m probably the world’s top living—yes, pun intended—expert on zombie physiology, aren’t I? And now that there are so many…of you guys…people have questions. We already had some of the answers, so…I figured I ought to share that knowledge—anonymously, of course.”

Liv scans the onscreen text. “Oh my god, Ravi, what _even_ —‘Where do zombies come from?’ ‘Well, when a vial of tainted Utopium and a borderline-legal energy drink love each other very much…’”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he insists. “Anyway, I’ve got a couple hundred regular readers already, and—”

“‘Can my dog get zombified?’” Liv continues reading in between sips of her smoothie. “‘Do zombies sleep?’ ‘If zombie-ism is blood-borne, can I get it from poop?’ I feel like not all of these take an expert to answer.”

“Well…not everyone knows that.” Ravi drags the cursor back to the top of the page. “Anyway, look. My name’s not anywhere on this. No bio, no confirmation I’m a professional! I don’t even say whether I’m a member of the Walking Dead or not.”

“‘Ask Dr. Scratchy, Z.M.D.,’” she reads. “Zombie medical doctor, I presume?”

“Naturally.”

“Not bad. So, what’s the problem?”

“Um, well, apparently a link to my post about zombie pulse rates and blood circulation went viral over the weekend. Which would be fine on its own, but…” Ravi clicks on another open tab. “This is what my inbox looks like this morning.”

Liv freezes mid-sip, letting her straw loll to the side. “That is…so many messages.”

“Look closer.”

She does. “That is…so many messages about _sex_.”

“You see my problem.” He leans back in his chair, arms crossed.

Liv winces but maintains eye contact. “I am unfortunately acquainted with detailed knowledge that that topic is not an issue for you.”

“Well, human sex, no, thank you very much. Zombie sex, on the other hand…” Ravi rubs his temples. “Besides the whole, ah, condom-testing business last year, I don’t really have any good answers for what to expect. What precautions to take. Et cetera.” He makes a face as she bites her lip, trying and failing to keep from laughing.

“This is still a _morgue_ ; there should not be anything this funny happening down here, especially given how things are out—” Trotting down the stairs mid-sentence, Clive pauses in attempt to interpret Ravi’s evident stress contrasted with Liv’s helpless giggles. “What the heck, you guys.”

“Ravi has to teach zombie sex ed to the Internet,” Liv gasps.

“Liv, these are legitimate medical questions that suddenly thousands of people need answers to!” Ravi retorts.

“No. Nope.” Clive turns on his heel to head back upstairs. “Call me if you get any murdered corpses I might need to start brain-acquisition paperwork for, ‘cause they just handed down an approval process and it’s a _bear_.”

“Don’t you…kind of have a vested interest in _this_ subject, though?” Liv calls after him.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but…” He trails off and pulls up a stool next to the other two. “Fine. What are we dealing with here?”

Ravi quickly explains Dr. Scratchy. “Look, I can cover the basic clinical aspects, but…”

“It’s just _slower_ , that’s all people need to know,” Liv declares. “When you just have a significantly slower pulse, you know, uh, blood flow-y stuff takes…longer. For everyone. That was kind of a surprise at first. Once you know what to expect, it’s…nice, actually, especially when…”

Clive nods, ignoring Liv as she trails off in favor of reading the other submitted questions carefully. “And we know there’s no other disease or pregnancy risk, and sweat doesn’t spread it. Right?”

“Correct.” Ravi types furiously. “Blah blah blah, consent is always important, talk to your zombie partner, blah blah blah…lovely, okay. It’s in the to-be-published queue. Thank you, more or less.”

“Whoa, wait,” Clive points to a line of text. “I don’t know _what_ ‘leg over’ means, but if it’s British slang, kill it. ‘Shag’ and ‘knob,’ too. You said you’re trying to keep this anonymous, come on.”

“Um, gentlemen, we may have a real problem,” Liv says around a mouthful of slurry. She swallows most of what’s left of her drink and points to a submitted question that had risen to the top of the screen as Ravi cleared out the repetitive sex items. “Someone’s asking about a cure.”

“Well, that’s obviously a possibility.” Ravi points out. “Ooh, maybe we could crowdsource more tainted Utopium? Or some more cans of Max Rager?”

Clive shakes his head. “Fillmore Graves legally owns the formula now, and you know as well as I do that they’ve discontinued it _and_ doubled down on not letting _anything_ out. They’ll notice if you start looking. And if you’re getting enough readers, someone upstairs is gonna notice the Utopium part.”

“Not to mention…the Internet is kind of public,” Liv says.

“That’s kind of the point, Liv,” Ravi says.

“No, I mean…when I was on social-media brain and Instragramming my hashtag-brain-food—remember? You said _anyone_ could find that.”

Ravi grabs her empty smoothie cup and throws it into the trash before bits of frozen brain can splash out from her gesticulating. “And no one did…?”

“Yeah, but there’s no way our friends at F-G want that cure getting out.”

Both men stare at her. “Why do you say that?” Clive asks.

“We’ve all seen the resources they have—why were they putting all that money toward Zombie Island, or a crazy flu conspiracy, instead of a cure? Guys, they want a monopoly on making zombies, and they’ve got one. They don’t _want_ a cure, even though they have to know about it from Major, right? They never did. They just want to run whatever’s left post-D Day.”

“Damn.” Clive massages his temples. “That’s a terrifyingly good point. So much for telling more people about the vaccine.”

After a pregnant pause, Ravi starts typing. “Okay, so, how’s this: ‘Dr. Scratchy says: Zombie-ism behaves in many ways like a disease—so, in theory, a cure could be possible. So could a vaccine, or some other kind of treatment. Unfortunately, zombie-ism also behaves in many ways like no disease the medical community has ever seen, so it’s hard to say where research should even start, or how it could be tested safely.

“‘Plus, to the best of this Z.M.D.’s knowledge, the phenomenon has only been present in human populations for a few years at most, and it’s only become known to the medical community at large within the last couple of months. It’s safe to say many zombies and their loved ones _want_ some kind of medical treatment options, but anything effective—let alone safe for mass consumption in the long term—is probably years away.

“‘Right now, the best cure is prevention: if you’re a zombie, you have a social responsibility not to infect anyone who doesn’t want to be exposed. If you’re human, take the steps (see: previous posts) to protect yourself. And remember, at the end of the day, we’re all just people wanting to live our (un)lives.’ How’s that?”

“Subversive, yet subtle.” Liv nods.

“Just…maybe don’t post it from here.” Clive makes a face. “I’m no IT guy, but if you’re trying to stay anonymous, using city servers can’t be a great place to start.”

“Fine,” Ravi grumbles. “I’ll post from Positivity on my lunch break.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Okay, so what’s our next question?” Liv asks, grabbing the mouse to scroll down past the obvious spam, requests for contact information, and at least two _very_ adult propositions, one of which has illustrations. “Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me. ‘I’m a new zombie, and brains taste awful—but so does everything else. Can I at least eat spicy things, or is this like being a vampire where I can’t go near garlic?’”

“Garlic is not a _spice_ ,” Ravi cries, at the same time Clive hisses, “ _White people_.”

“‘The ghost pepper is your friend, dear reader,’” Liv dictates, elbowing her way to the keyboard and typing out her response. “‘Rock those Scoville heat units off the charts in good cheer, and don’t be afraid to get exotic with your capsaicin consumption.’”

Ravi grabs the keyboard. “Dr. Scratchy would _never_ say it like that!”

**Author's Note:**

> All hail Queen [Funda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica/works), whose questions about zombie sex prompted this idea, which in turn prompted a lot more of her questions about zombie physiology, which in turn led to her betaing this like a champ.
> 
> Sorry I couldn't _quite_ get Major (or Minor) to make an in-person appearance, but we all know he's very proud of Ravi's social-media success.
> 
> Happy Yuletide!


End file.
